Read Online Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) by Stacy Kestwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stacy Kestwick
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sipping.
“Check out the fruit. If you don’t see the ripe curves of breasts within that arrangement, you’re blind.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth.
“And the thick sausage links—they’re bratwurst size. That’s some thick meat. You think that’s a coincidence? Not one bit. The whipped cream they’re so eager to top everything with? Should I continue?”
“Does everything go back to sex for you?”
He paused. “No. It’s not a me thing. It’s human nature. We’re wired to respond to sex on a primal level. It’s natural to crave it, be drawn to it, respond to it. What’s smart is using that to your advantage, employing it either subtly or overtly to hold someone’s attention, even if they don’t realize that’s why something is aesthetically pleasing. It’s the most basic, and effective, of marketing strategies.”
“So you’re telling me my lessons with you will somehow or another all pretty much revolve around sex?”
He grinned. “Absolutely.”
THE REST OF THE week settled into a rhythm. A paper plane found its way to me every morning, whether I ate in the restaurant or ordered room service. I had seven now, a veritable fleet parked in my dresser drawer. I worked out every other day per Theo’s instructions, although I never saw Nick in the gym again. I guess he was getting his workouts in some other time. After breakfast, I usually met with Nick for an hour or so, and I had to give him props, he took the mentoring role seriously. Sure, he flirted outrageously when we shared a meal, but when we had our cameras in hand, he meant business and I had picked up some invaluable tips.
I ran two different family-centered campaigns by Grady and he seemed pleased, greenlighting both ideas. And we were finally, finally improving in our dance lessons at night.
Rue had shot back an email three days later about the pictures I’d sent her. While she said she was impressed with the quality of the shots, she had to question my choice of models. Couldn’t I find anyone better? When I pointedly told her not that fit her tastes so perfectly, she hadn’t responded again. Mmhmm. That’s what I thought.
I’d been working with an adorable family with three daughters throughout the week for one of my campaigns. The girls were all blond ringlets and big, cornflower blue eyes and matching dimples. When the youngest one went down for a nap Monday afternoon, I put away my camera for the day.
I was past due for some down time.
After making my way down to the water activity cabana, I stared at the available choices listed on the sign. Jill, the relentlessly cheerful activity coordinator who’d been trying to get me out on the water all week, sidled up next to me.
“You finally ready to take some paddleboards out?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Yay!” She clapped her hands in excitement and I half-expected her to do spirit fingers. “The water’s perfect today, super calm, small waves. Let’s grab some equipment and get out there before you change your mind.” She became a whirlwind, collecting what we needed and shoving it at me before practically pushing me into the surf.
I’d admitted my fear of the water to her the day we met, and she’d promised to go out with me when I worked up the courage. I guess she didn’t want to give me a chance to back out.
The ninety-minute lesson blew by. Being able to see through the clear turquoise water went a long way toward allaying my fear of being attacked by hordes of angry sea creatures. And once we paddled out, I wasn’t actually in the water—I was on the water, giving me further confidence that I wasn’t in imminent danger. While I wasn’t quite as comfortable as Jill, who tried to entice me into joining her in some yoga moves on the boards, I had a fabulous time and promised to meet her again tomorrow afternoon.
By the time we finished, a late afternoon storm was blowing in, the kind that would
“Check out the fruit. If you don’t see the ripe curves of breasts within that arrangement, you’re blind.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth.
“And the thick sausage links—they’re bratwurst size. That’s some thick meat. You think that’s a coincidence? Not one bit. The whipped cream they’re so eager to top everything with? Should I continue?”
“Does everything go back to sex for you?”
He paused. “No. It’s not a me thing. It’s human nature. We’re wired to respond to sex on a primal level. It’s natural to crave it, be drawn to it, respond to it. What’s smart is using that to your advantage, employing it either subtly or overtly to hold someone’s attention, even if they don’t realize that’s why something is aesthetically pleasing. It’s the most basic, and effective, of marketing strategies.”
“So you’re telling me my lessons with you will somehow or another all pretty much revolve around sex?”
He grinned. “Absolutely.”
THE REST OF THE week settled into a rhythm. A paper plane found its way to me every morning, whether I ate in the restaurant or ordered room service. I had seven now, a veritable fleet parked in my dresser drawer. I worked out every other day per Theo’s instructions, although I never saw Nick in the gym again. I guess he was getting his workouts in some other time. After breakfast, I usually met with Nick for an hour or so, and I had to give him props, he took the mentoring role seriously. Sure, he flirted outrageously when we shared a meal, but when we had our cameras in hand, he meant business and I had picked up some invaluable tips.
I ran two different family-centered campaigns by Grady and he seemed pleased, greenlighting both ideas. And we were finally, finally improving in our dance lessons at night.
Rue had shot back an email three days later about the pictures I’d sent her. While she said she was impressed with the quality of the shots, she had to question my choice of models. Couldn’t I find anyone better? When I pointedly told her not that fit her tastes so perfectly, she hadn’t responded again. Mmhmm. That’s what I thought.
I’d been working with an adorable family with three daughters throughout the week for one of my campaigns. The girls were all blond ringlets and big, cornflower blue eyes and matching dimples. When the youngest one went down for a nap Monday afternoon, I put away my camera for the day.
I was past due for some down time.
After making my way down to the water activity cabana, I stared at the available choices listed on the sign. Jill, the relentlessly cheerful activity coordinator who’d been trying to get me out on the water all week, sidled up next to me.
“You finally ready to take some paddleboards out?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Yay!” She clapped her hands in excitement and I half-expected her to do spirit fingers. “The water’s perfect today, super calm, small waves. Let’s grab some equipment and get out there before you change your mind.” She became a whirlwind, collecting what we needed and shoving it at me before practically pushing me into the surf.
I’d admitted my fear of the water to her the day we met, and she’d promised to go out with me when I worked up the courage. I guess she didn’t want to give me a chance to back out.
The ninety-minute lesson blew by. Being able to see through the clear turquoise water went a long way toward allaying my fear of being attacked by hordes of angry sea creatures. And once we paddled out, I wasn’t actually in the water—I was on the water, giving me further confidence that I wasn’t in imminent danger. While I wasn’t quite as comfortable as Jill, who tried to entice me into joining her in some yoga moves on the boards, I had a fabulous time and promised to meet her again tomorrow afternoon.
By the time we finished, a late afternoon storm was blowing in, the kind that would
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